Something There That Wasn't There Before
by Aniphine
Summary: A songfic for Charon and F!LW (slightly, faintly, totally romantic) set to the Disney classic, "Something There That Wasn't There Before."


Charon wasn't an asshole or anything, but this act of kindness was frankly unexpected.

When he handed her the Assault Rifle, it was already shined and polished to perfection. She had another in her weapons' locker, but its disrepair, the vibrant rust stains across its barrel, and the way it jammed and left her useless behind cover ensured it remained securely in the locker – a prison of sorts, special for its traitorous performance.

Charon extended it to her with both hands; the wooden stock in one hand and the metal barrel in the other. "Here you are. Perhaps you'll have better luck in the firefights with this," he said, his tone taking a slightly more refined edge in the way it sometimes did. His voice seemed a little tighter – like he knew exactly what he would say before he said it. Months in the same living space with someone made you pick up things, but she hadn't quite nailed down what that meant.

 _ **There's something sweet and almost kind**_

His peeling and deteriorating hands transferred it to her heathy and smooth palms with care. Sara's eyes scanned the weapon as she held it – her fingers grazed the polished stock and the shining steel barrel. It must have taken him weeks to gather all the random, inconsequential parts to piece it back together into what she assumed was its original glory. Honestly, she had thought he was kicking the corpses after their brief firefights – he called the Raiders a range of things when the bullets were flying, so it wouldn't have been a surprise. Serious, man – she thought she was fucking vulgar.

 _ **But he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined**_

Instead it was this.

Sara was robbed of words for the first time in a long time, and she looked up at Charon; her feelings showed on her face, despite any efforts. She'd thought the first time she met him – when he sent a shotgun round into his former boss's face – was impressive; this reached a unique level unto its own. "Wow, Charon. I don't know what to say. Thanks."

He didn't quite meet her eyes, instead occupying his sight with something else beyond her shoulder that was apparently of more interest. His features only held a look of neutrality, like always. "Think nothing of it." And he simply turned at that, descending the stairs.

 _ **And now he's dear and so unsure  
I wonder why I didn't see it there before**_

 _-0-0-_

Sara thought she had a sense of humor.

She did, to an extent, but her perception of it was always _just_ beyond her actual abilities.

Jokes, quips, and teases were one thing, but the most annoying was when she didn't say anything at all; when she just gave him that _look_. He could normally tell her thoughts with a quick glance at her face, since there was little to no barrier between the two. But there was something just foggy enough about the _look,_ which he found supremely aggravating.

 _ **She glanced this way, I thought I saw**_

It came in small ways at first. Giving him a wry smile when he glared down a townsperson a little too heavily armed and growing a little too close. Chuckling when a Brotherhood soldier who had heard of her from Three Dog came jogging up and the approach inspired Charon to step in front of her, hands tightening on the Hunting Rifle in his hand – sure, the kid was on their side, but there was also an Energy Rifle on his back; his contract made things like that pretty clear.

In these rare cases, she didn't say anything, but she looked at him as if a joke in her mind was too rich and too awful to share.

Ah, yes, quite the comedic display; him doing his job. What else was he supposed to do?

He thought for a while that she derived some pleasure from it, and that she'd had advanced past looks and into a range of "jokes" previously untapped. Then he realized they were anything but.

Like the physical contact. The way she would easily drape her arm around his shoulder as her legs faltered, the Stimpaks' effects not quite sinking in yet. At first it had surprised him; his skin was flaky and dry, patches of bare raw flesh poking underneath strips of half rotten flesh centuries old. She didn't flitch at it. Sure, he had caught her staring in those first two weeks of the contract, but he was used to it. Though now she didn't hesitate to touch him, leaning her weight on him; it was different enough from the normal response he received – especially from a contract – that he was thrown into uneasy compliance.

 _ **And when we touched she didn't shudder at my paw**_

It wasn't a joke; at some point this had become something normal to her, and Charon had missed when that point was. Though maybe that was what friendship implied now; the slow upping of familiarity until there were little to no barriers.

Fair enough, he supposed; as uncomfortable as it made him.

It continued to up, step by step. She wrapped her arms around him when he offered up that last Stealth Boy in the mutant-infested Metro. Her fist collided playfully with his shoulder when he threatened to make Dogmeat just that – dog meat – if he didn't stop leaving strange mutilated hands at his feet when he woke up. Her legs rested over his lap as she reclined on the couch, slipping into sleep.

It finally escalated to its most obvious point when he sidestepped just in time, feeling the sharp, burning pierce of gunpowder and metal biting into his skin instead of hers. He'd stepped in front of her in dozens of firefights, but it had been one of the only times when a Raider's damaged weapon found enough accuracy to fulfill its master's wishes. Like he had fulfilled his purpose to his master – boss – contract – friend. Charon crumbled to the ground, feeling the burn flush up his side like a hissing snake of the Old World, growing louder and fiercer as it uncoiled. The armor at his knees scrapped at the ground as he tried to rise up but felt his legs waver, sending him back down.

Instead of running, like she should have – like he barked at her to do – she stopped in the middle of the firefight; in plain daylight, free of cover, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, dragging him upwards. Her arm readjusted, wrapped around his middle, looping his arm around her shoulders though he had struggled and pulled away and demanded that she leave; and she had cursed and threatened and persisted anyways. She hadn't hesitated at his dying skin, or the fact that a contract she kept somewhere said to leave him, or that basic sense alone said to leave him.

That was obvious and stupid, but had a clear answer. Other things were as foggy as the _look_.

One night, a gasp loud enough to pass through walls broke through the darkness. It wasn't enough on its own to startle Charon from sleep, but the low mutter of his name combined with the sound accomplished this. His eyes opened to the stillness of the dim lit room – the hanging lights in Megaton peeking through the cracks in the walls and ceiling to let in light. It was so silent, for a brief moment he wondered if he had been mistaken. He listened, ears trained from where he lay on the couch until Sara descended the stairs in the darkness. She moved to the kitchen, finding and downing the coldest Nuka Cola from the fridge, and then she moved to return to her room in the stillness.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him awake. He couldn't tell exactly what was going on behind those eyes – again, while her feelings usually flickered across her expression easily, the trait had abandoned her then. Though, in the dull darkness, he might have detected a hint of blush coloring her face the longer they held eye contact.

He didn't know what that was about.

"Did you call for me?" He asked, though he couldn't fathom what she would want; if there was danger, she wouldn't be downstairs searching for a drink, or standing like a dark silhouette as seconds ticked casually by.

She looked as though she'd stumbled into a minefield, seeing the blinking orange light for the first time. Then her face flitted away, resettling on the place where the wall conjoined with the floor across from them. "Nope." She said simply, and then she was ascending the stairs.

He didn't believe her; but then again, it wasn't his job to believe or not believe her. _As you wish,_ as always, and he closed his eyes.

 _ **No it can't be, I'll just ignore  
But then she's never looked at me that way before**_

 _-0-0-_

Sara could hardly lift her head from the pillow, feeling a distant and benevolent dick-ish entity pinning her head down with thudding pain and nausea. The sickness came in slow growing waves, building up and then tapering off; teasing her in the least sexy way imaginable.

She was never going to drink again.

She knew she said something to Charon the night before; well, clearly she'd said a lot of things - but something _stupid_. She could recall a whole two things from the night. One, tipping in more whiskey into the glass than Quantum – or was it the other way around?

And two, Charon giving her a look that wasn't quite scolding but not exactly favorable either. That "it's not my problem but it's a really bad idea," look that he managed like he had a patent on it. Charon teetered just on the edge of being a grumpy old man; however, he wore leather and shouted an array of twisted insults at people he was shooting in cold blood, so he managed to avoid the retirement discount by the skin of his teeth.

Combining facts one and two together, Sara knew she'd said something stupid – a lot stupid. Or had _done_ something very stupid – or had done _a lot_ stupid. She didn't even remember how she got home, or into her bed, or out of her shoes. If she could lift her head, she'd check for pants, but she didn't feel a draft, so it was a seventy-thirty shot on still having those.

Did she propose?

She was about 98% sure there was singing.

God, she hoped that sexy dream she'd had about him that one time didn't come up in conversation.

She was about to attempt suffocating herself in her pillow – both because of the headache and as punishment for her sins – when Charon entered the room. A Mutfruit in hand and a bottle of purified water in the other, he kneeled beside her bed, placing the food in her hand.

"How are you feeling?" He asked; both to his credit and to her surprise, there wasn't a snide comment about her nuclear hangover. She could barely bring herself to grasp the fruit, let alone speak - because diverting her attention for a moment meant the puke behemoth dancing in her stomach would claw out. Maybe he noticed this, because the next second he exhaled. "You're going to get dehydrated." He warned; apparently the disapproving look at been in reserve for this moment, waiting to resurface at the right time. "You need to eat something or you'll only feel worse."

Sara closed her eyes, still not parting her lips.

Silence beat out for one moment, two moments, and she focused on her own heartbeat and his slightly ragged zombie-ish breathing to keep the behemoth from fulfilling its dreams as an acrobat inside her stomach.

She wondered for a second if Quantum hangovers came with hallucinations, because she felt Charon's hand sliding underneath her head, into her crumpled hair. He elevated her head slightly, scarred and callused palms cradling the weight as he pressed the water close so she could drink. Cool liquid brought her senses alive as it drained down her throat, and it suddenly awoke a thirst she didn't know she had.

 _ **New and a bit alarming  
Who'd have ever thought that this could be?**_

When the water was gone, in a remarkably short time, her mind had cleared just enough to wonder what the hell Charon was doing. Not exactly the weirdo's style, to say the least.

Next he was lying her back down and setting the Mutfruit on the bedside table. "You'll need to eat that soon." He said, and then he stood and wandered to the door, "I'll look in on you again later. Call for me if you need something."

Her mouth suddenly didn't feel chapped anymore, and she felt deeper breathes draw into her lungs. She wondered how much she must have fucked up to inspire this kind of kind behavior; it had to have been spectacular.

 _ **True that he's no Prince Charming  
But there's something in him that I simply didn't see**_

 _-0-0-_

" _ **Well, who'd have thought**_?" Moira said, regarding the pair of survivors from across her shop. They stood at the counter - Sara busied herself with browsing through Moira's latest caravan stock, and Charon busied himself looking as disinterested as possible. "Ah, well the best things in life are the things we wait for."

Fawkes stood beside Moira, his voice low, "Yes, indeed. You speak wisely. It's not an unwelcome development."

" _ **Bless my soul. Well, who'd have known**_?" Moira continued, smirking slightly. "They are quite a pair together."

Fawkes, his expression permanently twisted into a snarl, nodded, " **Well, who indeed**?"

The guard stationed at the doorway beside Moira regarded the entire situation, glancing between his boss and her latest fascination before shaking his head.

" _ **And who'd have guessed they'd come together on their own**_?" She pressed. "I may just have to write another survival guide on this. Do you think I can convince them to run a few tests for me regarding pheromones?"

" _ **It is peculiar**_." Fawkes replied at first, and then continued, "And I find your proposal highly doubtful."

Fawkes tone naturally reverberated a notch higher, drifting farther than the pitched but mellow tones of Moira. As their speech began to mingle, the sound grew just enough in volume for Charon's attention to be drawn. He glanced away from the empty space on the wall to the two of them, who regarded him and Sara from across the room in the most inconspicuous way a redhead and a giant could.

"Well, never say never. Science finds a way. _**We'll wait and see - a few days more."**_ Moira replied, and when she leveled her gaze back down, her neck no longer cocked to gaze upwards at her new stand-in girlfriend, she caught Charon's eyes on her. She made a small sound of alarm and turned around, busying herself with the stock found in the next room.

Charon looked at them for a long moment, neutral but watchful, and when Fawkes offered nothing in the form of explanation, he looked away. The bodyguard of Moira's - a tall, dark, armored man leaning against the wall - simply shook his head.

 _ **There may be something there that wasn't there before**_


End file.
